Steve Rogers: Artist
by Jane Krahe
Summary: Steve picks up old hobbies and Tony starts to wonder - why the hell doesn't Steve want to draw him?


Tony noticed it for the first time on a sleepy Saturday afternoon at Avengers Tower. It had previously been Stark Tower of course, but after their first official mission together he'd decided he kind of liked that solitary "A" and left it there, rebuilding the floors to accommodate his team's particular needs. He's been heading back up from the gym, where he'd been working out a shoulder that had been dislocated in the battle with Loki, and had stopped in the kitchen for something to eat.

Steve and Natasha were there in the kitchen already, both sitting at the table. Natasha was reading the paper (an actual, honest to god _paper_ because she was a giant spoilsport and didn't want a Stark tablet) and sipping coffee. Steve had a plate of leftover ribs in front of him that he wasn't eating. It made Tony stop and pay attention because unless danger was imminent, food never survived long in front of Steve and his over-active metabolism.

Steve was... drawing. He had a sketch book in front of him and kept glancing at Natasha with intent, considering looks before he would look back down and draw some more with the charcoal pencil in his hand. Tony's curiosity got the better of him and he moved up behind Steve, looking over his shoulder. "Oh hey," he said. "That's... huh." He had no idea Rogers had any talents outside of being a walking one-man army. The portrait was rendered in careful, delicate strokes. Natasha looked sort of sweet in it, her head bowed, chin resting in her hand, hair shining in the warm light from the windows. Steve had managed to capture her glossy curls in just charcoal. He looked up at Natasha, who was still reading. "Did you know he's drawing you?" For some reason, this struck him as important information.

The look Natasha gave Tony told him she didn't agree. "I'm aware," she replied. "Especially since he asked permission first."

"Oh." Of course he did. Captain Gentleman would never do something so scandalous as _draw a lady_ without her permission. "Well it's really good," he said, unsure of whom he was complimenting.

Natasha just smiled slightly at him, but Steve ducked his head. "It's only because she's so pretty," he said, in that shy _aw-shucks_ way he had.

Tony was momentarily charmed. Natasha said, "Don't sell yourself short Cap, I've seen your work." When Steve didn't reply, just ducked his head closer to the paper and kept drawing, Natasha flapped a hand at Tony. "Go away Stark, you're making him uncomfortable and I want him to finish so I can steal it from him."

Tony rolled his eyes, got a protein shake from the fridge, and headed off to his lab.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The second time, it was Bruce. Tony went to Bruce's lab to show him something he'd been working on. (It was a physical form for Jarvis. He thought it might make Thor and Steve a little more comfortable if they could see who was talking to them, and Bruce had taken a shine to Jarvis and had agreed to help.) When he got there, he stopped in the doorway because Bruce wasn't alone. Steve, who hated the labs and usually refused to go in them if he could help it, was perched on a stool at a workable, his sketchbook in hand. "You're drawing Bruce now?" Tony asked as he moved into the room.

Steve shrugged, eyes on his paper. "Actually I'm trying to draw the -" he cast a careful look at Bruce. "The other guy," he continued. "But it's all from memory so I needed a reference."

Tony was a little surprised Bruce had agreed to that, but then he'd been practically serene since taking up residence with the team. Tony moved to Steve's side to look. It was in pencil this time, and only the face and shoulders were done. He had to admit, the facial expression was perfect. The big guy looked deeply annoyed, which was the Hulk's default expression. He thought it was sort of nice that he hasn't drawn the creature in a rage. It would have been too easy, and mean in a way Steve didn't seem to have in him.

"Huh," he said. Then turned to Bruce, who wasn't paying attention to either of them. "I got a present for you, Banner," he said with a grin, bringing Bruce the tablet with his new design.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The third time, Tony started to feel a little weird about it. It was Clint, and he was sitting on the couch in the common room cleaning his bow. Steve was sitting on the floor across from him, sketchbook on the coffee table. Clint wasn't wearing his hearing aids; Tony could tell because he had that stillness to him that he always did when they were out. Tony didn't say anything this time, just walked around to look at the drawing. But when he did, he couldn't stop the yelp of, "His _hands_?!" The drawing was only half done, the thick fingers leading to hands that faded to a blank page.

Steve went still. "He has nice hands," he said, and there was a careful neutrality to his voice. "And hands are always the hardest. I needed practice."

"He has... nice... hands?" Tony repeated, eyebrows slowly climbing as he spoke. He glanced back at Barton, still methodically cleaning his bow, ignoring them both. Then he looked at Steve again. "Does the Hawk know you're perving on his sexy, sexy hands?" He meant it as a joke, but there was a strange note in his own voice that he couldn't decipher.

Judging by the confused, annoyed look Steve gave him, he didn't understand it either. "What?" Steve said, and he sounded a little affronted. "I'm not - I don't think -"

"Okay, okay, relax Cap," Tony said. "Don't have an aneurysm." His smile was gone though. He was a little disappointed that Steve was so offended at the implication that he might not be entirely straight. He'd thought Steve was more open-minded than that.

Steve frowned at him. "I'm not '_perving'_ on anyone," he said tartly. "I'm practicing. Not all of us look at a good-looking person and think only about getting them in bed."

And oh, now it was Tony's turn to be affronted. "I hope you're not implying that about _me_, Captain," he said sourly. "Because I see your carved-from-marble body every day and have _no_ desire to get you in bed." It was a bald-faced lie, of course. But Cap didn't have to know that.

Steve's expression darkened even further and opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut off by a heavy sigh from the couch. Tony turned and saw Clint lowering his hands from where he'd clearly been putting his hearing aids back in. "I couldn't even hear you two and I could tell you were arguing," he said dryly. "Stark, leave Rogers alone. He's drawing my sexy hands."

Steve turned bright red and Tony rolled his eyes, giving an exaggerated huff. "Fine! I'll leave you to your totally-not-in-any-way romantic sketching." He left in a huff, unable to put his finger on why he was so bothered.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me!"

Tony had just walked out onto the balcony with a bottle of scotch, planning on watching the sunset and maybe figuring out what had been bothering him lately, only to see Thor sitting perched on the railing, _completely naked_ except for a very small towel around his waist. And of course, Captain Virgin was sitting on a deck chair, that stupid sketchbook in his hands.

Steve's head jerked up as Tony spoke. His expression immediately went stormy. His jaw tightened and he went back to his work without replying.

"Stark!" Thor said with a bright grin, waving a hand. "I am a figure!"

"…what." Tony looked at Steve, who was blushing again.

"Figure drawing," he mumbled. "As in… bodies."

Tony barked a laugh. "So you picked him?" He jerked his thumb at Thor, whose golden waves were now blowing in the wind in a way that made Tony want to pimp him out for hair care commercials. "I mean, no offense Goldilocks, you're a pretty guy. But if _I_ had to chance to draw someone mostly naked, I would've picked Natasha. Or me," he added with a grin.

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him. "He's the biggest," he said and Tony looked down at his own body before he could stop himself. Then he glared at Steve. Steve looked back with a very purposeful look of innocence.

"Why is it that the most innocent person I know is actually the worst at looking innocent?" Tony observed without expecting an answer. Steve just shrugged and went back to his work.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

At this point, Tony figured it was his turn. He'd caught Steve drawing every other member of the group, so it was only a matter of time before he came to Tony and asked, right? But… he didn't. Days went by and nothing. Steve actually seemed to be avoiding him a little. Whenever Tony saw Steve with his sketchbook, Steve had taken up the habit of snapping it shut and leaving the room, or waiting until Tony did.

Tony tried to look more… drawable? He sat in purposefully sexy poses, he flexed when he brought his tumbler of scotch to his lips. He _pouted_ for gods' sake. But nothing happened except eye rolls from Natasha and occasionally Clint giving him a look like he thought Tony was sick or something. It was starting to really piss him off. He was an attractive guy; he knew that. He was at the top of dozens of Most Eligible Bachelors lists every year. He wasn't as young as Clint or Natasha or Thor, but he had only gotten hotter with age. So why wouldn't Steve draw him?

"Why won't Steve draw me?" He was sitting on a table in Bruce's lab, and wasn't whining. At all.

"What?" Bruce looked up from whatever it was he was doing, Tony hadn't been listening.

"Why won't Steve draw me?" he asked again, slower. "I'm sexy; I've got great bone structure." He waved a hand at his, in his opinion, very handsome and _drawable_ face.

"Okay," Bruce said, taking off his glasses to clean them on his shirt. Technically Tony's shirt; they were the same size and kept getting their laundry mixed up.

"So why hasn't he asked me to sit for him?" Tony twirled a screwdriver in his fingers, frowning at nothing. "It's weird, right? He had Thor naked the other day, Bruce. Thor. _Naked_."

Bruce put his glasses back on. "And you'd rather he had asked _you_ to get naked for him?"

Tony was startled for a moment. Then he laughed, in a manic, desperate sort of way. "What?" he said with exaggerated indignation. "Of course not! No, that's – that's ridiculous, I'm just saying that Steve is _limiting himself_ if he doesn't take the chance to sketch me."

"Oh of course," Bruce said. "Because he doesn't know a single other dark haired, handsome man in his forties." He gave Tony a very arch look, cocking an eyebrow.

Tony huffed. "Are you saying you and I are the same type and of the two of us, he picked you?"

"I'm not saying anything," Bruce said, "because this conversation is ridiculous. If you want him to draw you so badly, why don't you just go ask him?

Tony threw his hands up and left.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tony stormed back up to the common room, only to stop in his tracks in the doorway. Pepper – _Pepper_, the traitor – was sitting on the couch, her knees drawn up, her arms wrapped around her legs. Steve was sitting on the floor in front of her, sketching her bare feet. Pepper looked up and saw Tony, then smiled and wiggled her toes. "Oh hey Tony," she said brightly. She was wearing a faded pair of jeans that he's fairly certain were once his, and an old Stark Industries t-shirt. "I'm not here for long, just stopped by to check in on everything before my flight out to Tokyo."

Tony took a couple steps into the room, and for some weird reason, he was angry. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said, voice harsher than he'd intended.

Pepper's smile faded and she tilted her head, giving him a questioning look. Steve flinched and looked up, then flipped his sketchbook shut with a snap. "Practicing," he said carefully.

"Is something wrong, Tony?" Pepper asked, concern clear in her voice.

Tony strode over and grabbed the sketchbook from Steve's hands. Of course, the only reason he got it was because Steve let him take it, but he ignored that. He flipped through it and recognized intimate studies on Natasha's mouth, Clint's arms, Bruce's eyes, Thor's back, and even one or two of Coulson and Fury, along with bigger portraits of each of the Avengers. But not a single pencil stroke of Tony. "Is this what you do all day?" he said, tossing the book back at Steve, who caught it easily, watching Tony warily. "You just sit around and draw? Don't you do anything else? I thought you were supposed to be this great military genius, but all you do is waste paper on these stupid scribbles. You know, in our time we do this thing called _work_, where we get real things accomplished with our time."

He knew he'd gone too far when he saw the way Steve's face turned to stone. It was just like the first time they'd met; blue eyes cold and disdainful and… disappointed. Steve stood and turned to Pepper. "Thank you for sitting for me, Ms. Potts," he said, voice polite but distant. He gave Tony one more upset look then left the room.

Tony just stood there, wondering what he'd just done and why he'd reacted that way. "Tony," Pepper said, voice gentle but admonishing. "That was mean."

Tony sighed. "I know." He sat down next to her, rubbing his face with his hands.

She put her hand on his back. "Let's talk about what we're going to do for Bruce's birthday."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tony had thought Steve was avoiding him before, but it was nothing compared to the way the Captain seemed to disappear from the tower after Tony's little bitch fit. Steve was still there; Jarvis said so. But Tony couldn't find him. On the off chance he managed to walk into the room where Steve was, Steve would leave right away, not even casting a glance at Tony. It was depressing and made Tony twitchy.

That was three weeks ago. But now it was Bruce's birthday. Tony and Pepper had planned a small party, attended only by the Avengers and Pepper and Coulson. Fury wasn't invited, on the grounds that Tony figured he'd be a giant buzzkill.

They held it in the cocktail lounge that Tony had installed near the top floor of the tower. It was tiny, especially for something Tony had built, but he'd modeled it after his dad's lounge - small and dim and cozy. They had a big, three-layer cake made in green with purple trim. He'd wanted it to be in the shape of the Hulk, but Pepper had vetoed that. Tony had managed to sneak a small Hulk action figure onto the top though, and Bruce, as usual, had just given Tony a fond expression of exasperation as he set the thing aside to cut the cake.

Dum-E was manning the bar, with the aid of Jarvis, and together they made a pretty good bartender. Tony was sitting at one of the small half-dozen tables, nursing a tumbler of scotch. Natasha and Clint were on the small stage at the other end of the room, their arms around each other, singing "Dream A Little Dream of Me". They were both really good, and Tony wondered idly how often they did this together. Clint was pretty drunk, and Natasha was red-faced and smiling in an open way that she never did.

Thor was sitting at a table with Coulson. They had mugs of Asgardian mead, provided by Thor himself, and were swaying to the music, Thor's arm draped heavily over the agent.

Bruce himself was off to the left of the stage with Pepper. Pepper's heels were in her hand, her arms around Bruce's neck as they turned slowly to the music, completely out of sync with it. Her head was on his shoulder, her eyes closed. Bruce's arms were tight around her waist, his nose pressed against her neck. He was pretty flushed and loose; he'd only had one glass of the mead but it was strong stuff.

Steve dropped into the chair beside Tony as Natasha left the stage, heading over to Thor and Coulson. Clint had the microphone now and started up another song, this time "I've Got You Under My Skin".

"Nice party," Steve commented softly. He nodded at the pair still circling in the corner. "Bruce seems happy."

"Good," Tony said and then winced at how loud his own voice was. "He deserves it." He smiled awkwardly at Steve, who was warmer and more relaxed than Tony had seen him in weeks.

Steve nodded then turned back to the room. He motioned at the pair again and said, "You're okay with that?"

Tony looked at Pepper and Bruce, at how tightly they were clinging to each other. All he could really think was how good they looked together. He wasn't even sure it was anything but two friends dancing drunkenly, but he found that the idea of it being something more didn't upset him. He kind of liked it, actually.

"_I've got you deep in the heart of me. _

_So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me."_

"It's not really any of my business," Tony said with a shrug. "Besides, I like Bruce. And Pepper apparently has a type. It's kind of flattering." He smiled at Steve, feeling a little loose from the scotch and the warm atmosphere.

Steve had a glass of something, Tony wasn't sure what, but he wasn't really drinking it, just swirling it around a little like he needed something to do with his hands. "Clint's a really good singer," Steve said, looking at the stage. "Natasha too."

Tony nodded. "I'm sure those two are full of hidden talents."

"_I'd tried so not to give in. _

_I said to myself: this affair never will go so well. _

_But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well _

_I've got you under my skin?"_

Tony looked around at the room again, at these people who had managed to come together into something so much better than what they'd had before. He felt a huge swell of affection for them all suddenly, a deep fondness bordering on love. Then he did what he always did when he was feeling something too strongly – he raised his glass to down the liquor still in it.

But Steve reached across and placed his hand on Tony's wrist. He met Steve's eyes as the younger man slowly pressed Tony's hand back down to the table. Tony swallowed hard, unable to look away from those deep blue eyes.

"_Don't you know, you fool, you never can win? _

_Use your mentality, wake up to reality."_

"I'm sorry," Tony blurted out, face warm. At Steve's cocked eyebrow he continued, "For what I said. About your drawings. You're really good. And I was just jealous." He winced. Clearly he'd had enough alcohol to be stupidly honest. He should go and sleep it off. Only… only Steve's hand was still on his wrist, still holding him there. And he was watching Tony, face open and accepting. He didn't say anything, just waited for Tony to continue.

"_Cause I've got you under my skin. _

_And I like you under my skin."_

Clint finished singing and there was a smattering of applause. Pepper and Bruce still hadn't broken apart. Natasha had her blouse open, showing Thor a couple of scars and telling him how she got them. He was really into the story, leaning forward, eyes shining in interest. Coulson had gone to the stage and was drunkenly telling Clint how amazing he was.

"I just couldn't figure out why you never asked me to sit for you," Tony admitted. "And it didn't bother me at first but you kept drawing everyone else, and you drew them all more than once, and you never asked me."

Steve tilted his head, expression soft. "Tony… I've drawn you dozens of times," he said.

"You have?" Tony swallowed and looked down at the glass still in his hand, wanting to drink it. It might make this easier.

"Yeah. I just did it from memory."

"Can I see them?"

Steve released Tony's hand then and looked away. "I don't know if you'll like them," he said stiffly.

"Oh now you have to show me," Tony said with a grin, nudging Steve. "Come on, you're talented. I'm sure they're great."

Steve looked at him sidelong, and Tony couldn't read his expression. "Yeah. Okay. Come on, they're in my room."

Tony stood and considered downing his drink before they left. He ended up leaving it untouched on the table.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tony hadn't been in Steve's bedroom since he'd had it furnished. Steve hadn't done much to personalize it since then; just a big American flag on one wall, and a couple of surviving sepia-toned pictures tucked into the corners of his mirror. Steve got down on his hands and knees to pull a box out from under the bed, and Tony, slightly tipsy, took the opportunity to ogle his backside. Steve set the box on the bed, still on his knees, and then hesitated. He glanced at Tony then looked down again. "You sure you wanna see these?"

Tony knelt down beside him, a hand on the bed to steady himself. "Positive," he said warmly.

Steve sighed and nodded, then slid the top off the box. Tony looked in and – wow. It was filled with drawings of Tony. But these weren't the casual pencil and charcoal sketches Steve had been doing of the others. These were full-colored, beautifully rendered portraits, each one finished and signed. Tony took the first one out and stared at it. They were done in colored pencil, rich and vibrant and so realistic that Tony might have thought they were faked, if it hadn't been Steve claiming them.

The first one was of Tony in his workshop, a hammer in his hand. The glow from his arc reactor lit his face in stark shadows. His arms were covered with a sheen of sweat, and there was a drop glistening on his temple. He was working a piece of red-hot metal, the hammer in mid-swing, the muscles in his arms taught and defined.

Tony grabbed the next one in the stack. This one had him sitting on the couch in the common room. His arms were spread across the back, his legs wide. His head was turned to the side and he was smiling, bright and broad. The line of his neck, the crinkles around his eyes, the curve of his fingers, it was all drawn in such careful and loving detail that Tony wondered how the hell Steve did this from memory.

The third one was Tony in bed, asleep. He was on his back, one leg hitched up at an angle, the other straight down. His right arm was flung up over his head, his left stretched out to the side. He was wearing nothing but the sheet that was placed strategically across his hips. The sheet was drawn to appear very thin though, and as Tony squinted he could see shading that made it look like you could see the outline of his –

His eyebrows shot up and he looked at Steve. Steve was staring determinedly at the comforter, picking at invisible lint. "Steve," he said slowly, and it was like opening the floodgates.

"I'm so sorry," Steve gushed, face bright red. "I know it's weird, I know it's way worse than just drawing Clint's hands or Natasha's mouth, and I promise I wasn't watching you in bed or anything, I've just seen you in the gym a few times and I just kind of used my imagination, which is probably just as creepy but-"

"Have dinner with me," Tony said, interrupting the word vomit.

Steve stopped abruptly and stared at Tony. "I have dinner with you all the time."

Tony rolled his eyes and set the drawings down. "No Captain, have dinner with me as in let me take you out and buy you dinner and make bedroom eyes at you over dessert."

"You mean… you mean like a date?" Steve's voice went up a little at the end.

"Yes. Like a date. I mean, I _think_ it's like a date; I've never really done the dating thing. Always skipped to the end. But yes. Go on a date with me." Tony propped his hand on his chin and waited. When Steve didn't reply, looking torn and sort of nervous, Tony continued, "Look Cap; I mean not to blow my own horn or anything but no one takes the time to shade a guy's half-hard dick through a bed sheet in a drawing unless he'd like to see that dick in person. And possibly touch it." Steve was blushing furiously now and Tony leaned in, smirking. "And I gotta say, I'm right there with you."

Steve raised his head and met Tony's eyes. "But you said you didn't want me like that," he said.

Tony frowned. "I did? When?" He thought back and – oh. Yeah. He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh come on, Rogers, that was a blatant lie."

"So… you _do_ like me?" Steve said, and the earnest hope in his voice made something warm wash through Tony's chest and he had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from grinning so stupidly his cheeks cracked.

"Yes. I do," he replied. "And I want you to go to dinner with me. What do you say?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said, and he made no effort to hide the smile that slowly spread across his face. "Okay. I'd like that."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Tony didn't get laid on the first date. Or the second. Or the third. But once it happened, it was totally worth waiting for.

And if a few of the sexier drawings went missing from Steve's little hidden stash, well…. Tony wasn't going to volunteer any information.


End file.
